Dear Bex,
I hope you’re doing well. I hope you’re happy and hydrated. I hope the pandemic has abated. I hope for a lot of things that probably won’t happen.
The past two weeks have been strange. Cram three thousand touch-starved teenagers onto one campus, and making friendships is like catching mosquitoes in July. With all that interaction, it’s amazing how alone you can feel. I keep trying to rush through everything, hoping it’ll make me a little happier and make everything going on a little lighter, but it hasn’t worked so far. I’ve always worn my heart on my sleeve, and it’s hard to seem cool and confident when my panic is apparent to anyone who sees me.
So much is happening in the world. Protests for racial equality, new discussions of ableism and disability rights in the wake of the pandemic, wildfires and climate chaos as those in power refuse to listen to those who need help. At times, it feels like there is a weight on my chest, too heavy for me to bear. Everything is so much, all the time, and I care so much about everything. At some point, it starts to feel like empathy burnout, as I lapse into apathy and pessimism. I’m so scared that nothing will get better. There are small things, though, that make it better. Fantasy books, hot tea, video calls with my parents, dog videos and silly puns… and, strangely enough, homework.
While I’ve been here, I’ve found a surprising role model (or role models). When I’m panicking or stressing or crying in my room from it all, I think about the Javanese dancers that I watch for homework. I think about their poise, their serene expression, the connection that their movement gives their body to their spirit. Internally, some of those dancers are probably just as scared as I am; the difference is, they use their craft to center themselves in the moment and create a sense of peace.
There’s a lot about this style of dance that is interesting and completely foreign to me. I’ve been dancing for ten years, from jazz to modern to hip hop, but I had never seen that utter control in a person’s body, that complete synchronization down to the smallest flick of the wrist or sway of the head. The most incredible part, however, was still that fixed expression, that eerie calm that the dancers exuded, even to the tune of violent drums or playful reeds. I was certainly impressed, but also confused. After a bit of research, I learned that fixed expression is directly linked to Javanese cultural values: grace, self-control and self-awareness, lightness, fluidity. I’ve always been an impulsive person, quick to speak and quicker to act, so this style of dancing and the values it represented were puzzling and intriguing to me. After that bit of research, I was all the more curious to try it out myself.
The first thing that struck me during our first practice was how tiring it was. Watching the videos, the dancers made every slow, sweeping movement look painfully elegant and simple. When we practiced, however, I found my thighs shaking and my back aching. It was strenuous, not just in terms of movement, which was taxing in its own way, but also to embody that calm and elegance that the court dancers portrayed. It made me question what dance meant to me. At the same time, it made me feel more at home and centered in my body than I had in the past two weeks. The soft texture of the sampur scarf helped to ground me in the moment. The slow, purposeful moves were akin to a mindfulness exercise.
I’ve learned many strange and fascinating things in the past two weeks. It’s incredible to learn what I choose on my own terms, instead of a prescribed, rigid curriculum. In my short time at Wes so far, I’ve memorized the entirety of the basic Japanese alphabet (Hiragana and Dakuon), written a poem, revised a short story, been tricked by both my creative writing and psychology professors to challenge the way I think, and, of course, learned about modern-day Javanese court dance. I love all my courses (which is good, because drop/add is over), but Dance as Cultural Knowledge has been the greatest departure from my usual areas of study. In addition to learning about the cultural values associated with bedhaya and srimpi, I was struck by the historical origins of modern Javanese court dance. I’ve been studying history for years, and dance is one of those things that seems modern and ancient at the same time. To my surprise, I learned that the majority of present-day Javanese court dance has colonial and post-colonial roots. That forging of national identity is beautiful and terrifying to me. My parents were born and raised in the Soviet Union, and I was raised with Russian as my first language, so I’m always wary of stories of nationalism and political intrusion into culture. While I still don’t know enough about this topic in relation to Indonesian culture to speak with any sort of authority, the fact that Indonesian court dance was forged through colonialism and is now a symbol of cultural pride and independence makes me incredibly happy and hopeful. I want to keep learning. I want to find more stories of pride and joy in the face of pain. And I want to find the poise and strength to emulate those dancers, even when my body feels like it’s spiraling out of control.
I hope you’re doing well, wherever you are. I hope you’ve found strength in self-control and forging your own path. I hope you’ve made closer connections and found friends who honor you, your capacity, and your sense of self. I hope you haven’t stopped dancing, and reading, and learning. I think, despite everything, I’m happy right now. I hope you are too.
Sincerely,
Bex Kachman
